The Night Shade
by Rhoda Nightingale
Summary: Jasper-fic, post BD: Beth Dawson is a college DJ, who lives in a dorm that was once a Civil War hospital. Jasper takes the shift after hers. Chapter 11: the hospital, in flashback.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Beth Dawson is a sophomore at Rosewood Hill College. She works part time as a DJ at the college radio station, and on weekends as a waitress in downtown Rosewood. New student Jasper Hale takes the radio shift after Beth's, and before long she realizes there's something different about him. And by the way, Beth's dorm building is a converted Civil War hospital, and she's begun hearing strange noises at night.

Author's Note: First, I'm not breaking up the Jasper/Alice pairing, so don't worry about that. Second, I've expanded on the back-story from _Eclipse_ that so many people seem to be intrigued by, so some chapters (including the first one) will be from that era instead of the present. Third, I know it seems kind of like a cheesy coincidence, but believe it or not, I really did used to live in a converted Civil War hospital. And boy, did it have some interesting closed doors! (Rating subject to change—keep your eyes open!)

"The Night Shade"

1

"Is that everyone?" Major Jasper Whitlock checked the names on his list one last time—all the women and children he'd been assigned to evacuate from Galveston—just to be sure no one was missing.

"I b'lieve so, Major," said one of his subordinates, drumming the butt of his bayonet against the ground. He was one of those cheerful drawlers who left out most of his vowels when he spoke. "Might be a few mor'n the road, thar." He gestured with his gun. "Stragglers."

Major Whitlock nodded. "Possibly," he agreed. "I'm heading back to the embankment. If I see anyone, I'll send them this way."

"Yessir."

The subordinate saluted as Whitlock mounted his horse and rode off down the road to the bay.

It was an hour journey on horseback. In some ways easier than the evacuation itself, because Whitlock did not have to wait for his troops and charges. In other ways, it was harder. With no one to give orders to, Whitlock's thoughts turned inward, towards the dim ruminations he couldn't avoid in the quiet of night. It was just December now. He wondered how much longer this stalemate at the bay would last, and if he would see his family for Christmas. The Union armies outnumbered them by far, although with the bay, the Confederates had the tactical advantage. Whitlock expected a victory here, but he was beginning to doubt what difference it would make to rest of the South. And what if there was no victory? Would the Union soldiers sweep through the bay and take the whole of Texas?

Whitlock flexed his fingers and took a better grip on the reins, urging the horse into a trot. His mount tossed its head; steam rose from its sweating flanks, and from its mouth as it chewed around the bit. It was getting colder. Whitlock pressed his hand against the horse's neck and spoke softly—not using real words, just soothing nonsense noises as he stroked the shining coat—until the horse calmed again. Just a couple more miles; Major Whitlock could smell the salt from the bay.

Suddenly the horse reared back and whinnied shrilly. "Whoa," said Whitlock, petting the mane again. "Whoa, boy." The horse snorted and stamped its hooves, dancing in place. It would not move forward, and its haunches had gone rigid. "What's wrong now?"

Whitlock searched the road ahead of them. There, a patch of movement in the iridescence of the pale moon. Three women, standing abreast across the road, just a few yards ahead of them. No—two women, both very tall, with long, fair hair, and one black-haired girl no older than thirteen or fourteen. All three had skin as white as snow, and bright eyes that glowed like amber. They were dressed in white gowns. They were staggeringly beautiful.

_Stragglers_, thought Whitlock. But he did not remember seeing them at the bay, with the other civilians. Still, three females alone at night on the path to Houston must surely be lost, and in need of assistance. Whitlock dismounted, petting and murmuring to the horse as he did so that it would not bolt and leave him stranded, then approached the strangers.

Their faces stopped him. Beautiful, yes, but something else as well. Something alien and unnatural. The hems of their gowns were torn and tattered, and dark stains peppered the fabric. The tallest of the blond women laughed—a high, musical sound, like a glass bell. "He's speechless!"

The other blonde came forward so quickly Whitlock did not have time to react, and _sniffed _him. A contented noise came from deep in her slender throat. "Lovely," she breathed.

Somewhere behind him, Whitlock heard hoof beats pounding further and further into the distance; his mount was gone.

"Concentrate, Nettie," said the little one, the dark-haired girl. There was something authoritative in her tone; she was clearly the youngest of the group, but somehow she was also its leader.

Whitlock swallowed dryly. The others were still speaking, but the sound of his own heartbeat rang in his ears until he could barely understand the words.

"Patience," the little one was saying. "I want to keep this one." Her voice was so innocent, so childlike, like a young girl begging her parents to let her adopt a lost puppy. Whitlock knew without asking that she was talking about _him_, and the knowledge made her words horrible and strange.

"You'd better do it, Maria," said the tallest one, "if he's important to you. I kill them as often as I keep them."

"Yes, I'll do it," said the little one, called Maria. "I really do want to keep this one."

_Do what?_ Whitlock wondered anxiously. A thousand possibilities riffled through his mind, each more unpleasant than the last.

"Take Nettie away, will you?" said Maria. "I don't want to have to protect my back while I'm trying to focus."

And the two flaxen-haired beauties disappeared. That is, they moved too quickly for Whitlock to see. A rush of icy air passed him, and they were gone. He wanted to run after them, to warn the others at the compound, but he could not turn his back on the dark-haired Maria.

Maria stared at him, her pale face glowing, her yellow-gold eyes bright with a demonic intelligence. She smiled. Whitlock no longer found anything remotely childlike about her.

"What is your name, soldier?" An unmistakable, irresistible, command.

"Major Jasper Whitlock, ma'am." Whitlock's voice sounded far away and frightened.

Maria took a step closer; Whitlock was struck by the smoothness of her skin, her mouth a black gash in an otherwise perfect sheet of stone cold marble. "I truly hope you survive, Jasper," she said. "I have a good feeling about you." No one addressed a Confederate officer by his first name, especially not a woman. She reached for him, lips parted as if to kiss him. The tongue inside that black mouth was too red, too vivid against the whiteness of her face. And the teeth behind her lips—small, but sharp.

_God save me!_ Perhaps Whitlock spoke the words aloud; perhaps not. It did not matter.

Maria's tiny hands tore into the fabric of Whitlock's coat, and the next moment he was flat on his back. Cold ground beneath them, hard nails like ice picks digging into his shoulders, through his coat. And a hot, shooting pain that began at his throat, and swam through his veins like liquid fire. Whitlock's mouth twisted open in a silent scream; he could not move. He could not see. He didn't know whether his eyes were shut or the pain had rendered him temporarily blind. A million little venom-filled needles seemed to strike him over and over, starting at the wound in his throat and circulating through his whole body. Then the venom reached his heart, and Whitlock saw nothing but blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

AU: Merry Christmas, folks! Or Happy Whatever-Holiday-You-Happen-To-Be-Celebrating-This-Time-Of-Year! Boy, being politically correct is a mouthful, isn't it? Anyway, I brought presents—well, just one, really, but I figure you guys can share it. ;) Here's Chapter 2—you'll meet my OC/narrator for the present time parts of the story, and learn a little bit about the setting we're dealing with here. Enjoy!

2

"No, you're not dreaming—that really was the first song ever written and recorded by Nine Inch Nails. You can call and debate me if you want to, but I _will_ put you on the air. Once again, that number is 555-K109, and I'll be running the show until twelve. I am Bella Donna, and you're listening to The Night Shade. Stay tuned."

I clicked the mike off, switched the radio feed to one of the pre-canned commercials and wrote down my selections in the playlist book. I could tell I was getting tired. My voice sounded too chipper and fake—like, more than usual—over the mike. It was only 11:15; the time would go fast, and I didn't have to do anything but load up my songs and hit play—no one cares if you talk on college radio—but from this end it still felt like a long way off.

We had a new guy coming in to take over for the midnight-to-two shift. It took us a while to find him; the campus never sleeps, but no one really wants to spend all-nighters alone in a tiny room stuffed with music. He offered to work a double, but we closed everything down after 2am anyway. And he sure as Hell wasn't taking my shift—I needed the money too much. His name was Jasper Hale. He was new this year, and I hadn't met him yet.

I double-checked my selections for the next hour to make sure I didn't have any repeats, then went back to the console to switch from commercial to music. I'd heard that most folks did this digitally now. There was some kind of program that loaded all your songs, commercials included, and all you had to do was point and click. We were old school here. "Old school" meaning "broke." The college had more important things to invest in than the student-run indie radio station.

There was a noise near the door. I looked up: long, lean limbs; impeccably clean clothes that consisted of dark blue jeans, a plain t-shirt and a pinstriped sport coat; and a wild mop of brassy blond hair that resembled a lion's mane. He looked very pale, but the combination of the bright clip-on lamps over the console and the colored fairy lights strung around the ceiling sometimes did strange things to a person's complexion. He was staring at me, and his eyes glimmered like a cat's.

"Bella Donna?" he said, in a soft voice that for some reason made me think of Rhett Butler. "I thought your name was Beth."

I laughed and went over to greet him. "Oh, that's my 'radio name,'" I explained. "It's stupid, but it seemed like a good idea at the time, and now they won't let me change it. You must be Jasper." I reached out to shake his hand.

His face scrunched up in an odd, strained expression, then he extended a gloved hand. "Nice to meet you," he said. He gripped my hand quickly, then stuffed both fists back in his pockets.

Weird. But not the weirdest I'd met. And he was so fine-featured, I could overlook that.

"Okay," I said, "let me show you how all this works."

I introduced him to the console, showed him where all the buttons were and what they did, how to log into the time clock so he'd get paid, where all the CDs and records were—all the basics I could think of. "We only have two rules about what you can play while you're here: First, no swearing. We don't have a way to censor, and even though it's an indie radio station, the college funds us and that's their rule, so we have to follow it."

Jasper nodded. "No problem."

"Second," I went on, "don't play anything from a major label. That's where the 'indie' part comes in. Everything we have on the shelves here is cool, but if you bring something with you, just double-check to make sure it's okay. For example, I really like AFI, and I can play _some_ of their stuff, but nothing after _The Art of Drowning_."

"I . . . don't know what that is, but I understand."

"Okay, good. Just one more thing: make sure you read through the announcements on the board over here," I pointed out the whiteboard on the wall next to the console, "at the top of every hour. I usually do it right before the commercial breaks, but that's up to you. Bathroom is down the hall on the left, and there's a snack machine down at the other end by the window." Jasper half-smiled at that, but the expression disappeared quickly. "Any questions?"

"Just one," said Jasper. "Am I expected to have a 'radio name' as well?"

"No, but you should think of a name to call your show so they have something to put on the schedule on the website. You don't have to, but Rob—that's our supervisor—thinks having a snazzy or goofy name for the shows pulls in more listeners. It's totally up to you."

Jasper nodded. "All right."

I checked my watch: five minutes to midnight. I decided to stay for the first half-hour or so of Jasper's shift, to make sure he knew what he was doing. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea of me hanging around, and I learned quickly not to stand behind him while he was talking into the microphone. Probably just a little claustrophobic. He had a great radio voice: smooth and captivating, the sort of voice you'd pause to listen to no matter what it was saying. He would pull in listeners with or without the snazzy title.

I left him at quarter-to-one, and he gave me a tiny wave and a smile. I couldn't tell whether he was a sociopath or just plain shy. Time would tell, I decided. No use worrying over something I couldn't change.


	3. Chapter 3

AU: And Happy New Year!! Wow—three new reviews, two new readers. Thanks guys! This is another flashback chapter; picks up right where Chapter 1 left off, so this is the bit of Jasper's turning-to-vamp story that got "censored" for Bella's benefit. Enjoy! (Oh, and if any of this internal monologue seems similar to the narration from my Joker stories, that's only because Jasper's an empath too.)

3

"Get up."

When Jasper didn't respond, Maria kicked him squarely in the ribs and then hauled him up by his hair. He was "Whitlock" no longer; never mind the "Major." She'd done something to him, and whatever he was now, he belonged to her. And to her, he was Jasper. He barely noticed the pain. It was overridden by an intense, nauseating hunger, made sharper by fury and a steadily waning patience. He was weak, and but for the hunger, would have been happy to let himself lie and wait for the cold comfort of death. He didn't understand the compulsion to hurry. A shivering sensation buzzed at the corners of his consciousness, saying, _Hurry, Hurry! _It wasn't the insistence of the feeling that bothered him. It was the fact that the feeling wasn't his.

"Come along, Jasper," said the sweet-voiced demon at his side. "Let's get you something to drink." There was an edge of anxiety in her tone. That's when Jasper realized it was _her_ impatience intruding on his thoughts.

A cold little hand circled the back of Jasper's neck, propelling him forward. They arrived back at the military outpost, the evacuation point to which he'd just taken the women and children. A few lumps of what looked like rag piles lay in scattered heaps outside, and the hard, packed dirt was stained red. (Red? It was the dead of night here—how could Jasper see red?) It was perfectly quiet, except for a strained whimpering somewhere out of sight. And above all, a sickly sweet scent, terrible and irresistible, hovered over everything.

The two blondes who had come ahead of them stood at the stables. Their dresses were splattered even more than before, and so were their mouths. They had something—or someone—restrained between them, struggling against the grip of their small, white hands. As Jasper drew closer, he recognized the soldier with the bayonet who had seen him off just hours ago. "Major Whitlock! Oh, thank heaven! We're under attack, sir, these two—" But he didn't finish. Jasper was on him within milliseconds of recognizing that heavy drawl, and his neck snapped back.

As the hot, juicy draft ran down to quench his thirst, three jarring emotions circled around him. One was simple: Terror, mixed with disbelief and a dull sense of irony—that was the soldier, surely. Then was Maria's relentless impatience, that _Hurry, Hurry!_ along with a surge of wicked pride. The third, a mild curiosity, belonged in equal parts to the blondes.

Jasper didn't know how _he_ felt. He couldn't feel anything. This place, this night, had taken on the fractured, fuzzy quality of a nightmare. It had jumped from place to place a little too quickly, although Jasper knew he hadn't missed anything in the journey from one to the other. Dreams could transport you much more quickly than riding horseback. Right? Was any of this real?

Yes. Of course it was. You never questioned your nightmares. Only in the cold light of reality did you hope to wake up from the horror. In a real dream, you fought your silent battles as valiantly as you could, knowing somewhere in the back of your mind that it would be over soon, and taking comfort in that knowledge.

Jasper tripped over the dead soldier's leg when he got up again, but Maria caught him. The dead man's blood pulsed thickly through Jasper's body, taking it over bit by bit until he knew it was no longer his. This cold shell was empty now, and Jasper was a small piece of consciousness watching hopelessly from behind its hard, dark eyes.

"Wha'd you do t'me?" he mumbled, slipping over his consonants.

"Don't ask stupid questions," said Maria. "We have work to do. Come on."


	4. Chapter 4

AU: Thanks for the reviews, guys! This is a semi-autobiographical chapter—yes, something similar did happen to me, so if it comes across as bitter, that's why. Anyhow, this gives my OC narrator a chance to experience Jasper's "power"—although she doesn't realize yet that's what's happening. Read on!

4

Only fifteen minutes until the movie. I was forever running late for fun stuff, and modestly early to class and work. Don't ask me why. I got out my phone to let my boyfriend, Kyle, know I was running late. He picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, sweetie," he said. "I don't think it'll be crowded—I mean, it's a Monday night. So don't worry about it."

"Oh, I'm not," I said. "But I wanna run in real quick so I can get my Stephen King book."

"Uh. . ."

"What's wrong? You said you were done reading it, right?"

"I am, yeah, but I mean, if you're already running late—"

"It'll take two seconds. Okay, I'm pulling up to your building—see you in a minute." I clapped the phone shut, put my car in park, and raced up the steps to Kyle's apartment. He pulled the door open before I could even knock and tried to pull it closed behind him.

"Whoa, hold on," I said. "Where's my book?"

"Oh yeah," Kyle said quickly. "Hang on, I'll grab it—"

I put my hand out against the door to keep it from closing when he disappeared back inside. "Can I come in for a second?" I asked. "What's—"

"Kyle, who're you talking to?" A thick, sultry voice came from deeper inside the apartment.

I frowned and held the door open while Kyle tried to "explain." There, sitting on the couch with _my _dog-eared copy of _'Salem's Lot_, was Kyle's ex-girlfriend—or so I'd thought. The bastard had told me they weren't speaking anymore.

I marched straight to the couch and snatched the book out of her hands without saying a word. "Hey!" she yelled, but I ignored her. I shoved past Kyle out of the apartment and started down the stairs again.

Kyle grabbed my arm and tried to pull me back, but I elbowed him hard and kept going. "Beth, wait!" he called after me. "This isn't what it looks like."

I spun at the bottom of the staircase and glared up at him. "Really? Because it looks like your skanky ex was reading my book," I waved the paperback in his face, "on your sofa when you told me she moved out four months ago, you asshole!"

"No, she _did_ move out. But it's just, what happened is. . ." He ran a hand through his hair and shuffled from one foot to the other.

I raised my arms in anticipation. "What? I'm waiting!"

He just looked at me, giving me the wide-eyed puppy dog look that used to melt me in seconds flat. It wasn't going to work this time. I went back to my car and started the engine. I'd planned this whole day around seeing Colin Farrell larger-than-life, and I wasn't going to give it up on account of some stupid boy.

And I was now four minutes late. "Shit," I muttered. I gunned the engine and raced to the movie theater. Ten minutes later, in the mall parking lot, I started to cry.

My mind was a nonsensical tangle during the movie, and it didn't stop when I got to the radio station. Kyle texted me four times. The first message was something along the lines of "I'm so sorry, it'll never happen again;" I deleted the rest without looking.

The station was empty when I got there; Lisa, the girl before me on the weekends, had left her last two songs cued up. I riffled through the CDs in the station, picked out my selection and seized control of the mike as soon as the music ran out. "Evening, folks!" I said, lacing my cheery voice with a heavy injection of sarcasm. "This is Bella Donna and you're listening to The Night Shade. I'll be here from ten to twelve as usual, and tonight, I'm going to kick things off with a very special dedication. This goes out to my brand new _ex_-boyfriend, Kyle. Thanks for nothing, jackass!" I hit play and launched some early Stabbing Westward—loud and angry, just the way I liked it.

I wandered around the studio as the music blared, trying to let it sooth me, or at least distract me a little. If it seems like I was overreacting, know this: I had heard the words "I'm so sorry, it'll never happen again" from Kyle more times than I could count on both hands. I let a lot slide with him. For example, the fact that he asked me out before breaking up with his existing girlfriend. I'm not stupid—I told him to take a hike until she moved out of his apartment at the very least. And he did. Or at least he told me he did. The first couple of weeks were wonderful—he took me out to eat, insisting on paying for everything, found me some rare vinyls as a birthday present. But he never asked me to stay over, and I'd always thought that was weird. At first, it was kinda nice—I didn't want a boyfriend who took advantage of me. But after a month had passed, and we still hadn't slept together, or even talked about it, I started to wonder. Was he weirdly religious or something? Was he gay and didn't know it yet? Was the ex still around? One day I confronted him and asked what was going on. He said he worked long hours (which I knew) and was always too tired to hang out on those rare nights that we both had off. He said he had to go out of town and needed to pack. He said—and this one cracked me up—that his apartment was a wreck and he didn't want me to see it all messy. So he'd been on thin ice with me for a while. Really I was only hanging around because I wanted to get my damn book back.

When Jasper showed up, I jumped. "Is it midnight already?" I asked.

"Five till," he said, in his soft drawl. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure, I just . . . I've got a lot on my mind. Lost track of the time. Hey, where are you from anyway?"

Jasper's eyebrows popped up in his smooth, white forehead. "Houston. Why?"

I shrugged. "I just wondered about the accent."

"Oh."

That was weird. Here I'd been, trying desperately to calm down, to make myself think of anything but Kyle all day, and the minute Jasper set foot in the room, it worked. I didn't even feel that angry anymore. Maybe I just needed another person to converse with for a few minutes.

"Are you all right?" Jasper asked.

I nodded. "Now I am," I said. "I just had a bad day. Hold on, I'm gonna do my last announcement and then I'll let you take over." I pushed the mike button. "Good night everyone! This is Bella Donna, and I'm almost outta here. I'll leave you with some Celldweller, and then you'll be in Jasper's hands for the rest of the evening. Thanks for listening to The Night Shade—take care!"

I gathered up my purse and keys and jotted down my last entry in the playlist book as Jasper settled into the chair in front of the console. "My sister-in-law's name is Bella," he said. "That's why I asked about that, before."

"Oh yeah? You have a sister-in-law?"

He nodded.

"How old is she?"

He gave me a weird, stony look and said, "Old enough in America."

I laughed. "Fine, be that way. I just think it's weird for anyone to get married younger than like thirty."

"Well, they fell in love. It happens."

"Mm. Good for them." I readjusted my purse over my shoulder and prepared to leave the station.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Jasper said.

And then a wave of . . . something went through me. A sort of warm, sparkly feeling, like static electricity but softer. Instantly I felt my blood cool, and the last of my rage vanished. "Yeah, I'll be fine," I said. "I think I just need to get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye."


	5. Chapter 5

AU: Longer wait for the update this time – sorry! This story is for some reason harder to make myself write than others. But I'll get through it, one way or another. And just to be clear, yes, this is all after BD. (Except for the flashbacks, obviously.) Hope you're still enjoying it – read on!

5

I woke up with a throbbing headache. When I got up to go the bathroom, I realized I felt achy all over, and my eyes were watery and weak. Ugh. . . If I didn't live within walking distance of most of my classes, I'd have stayed in bed. But guilt and a sense of duty kept me going. I just stayed in the back, kept my head down, and took notes in the form of dictation because I knew my teachers' words would disappear from my mind the second I left the room.

I got back to my dorm at around two, with a six-pack of Cup O' Noodles and a family size bottle of Robitussin. Then I hunkered down with my laptop and a stack of my favorite Johnny Depp movies; sure, I had a pile of reading to do for my classes, but the hell with it. I'd never be able to concentrate with my head all stuffy anyway.

Midway through _Sleepy Hollow_ and my third lukewarm cup of soup, I heard something. Now, hearing strange noises in a dormitory isn't unusual by any stretch of the imagination. Those walls are paper-thin, and most of the people who live between them don't bother to keep their voices, stereos, or televisions down. My floor was mostly well behaved, but in the middle of the day I didn't expect quiet. However, this didn't sound like a fellow student. The voice was female, but more mature in its timbre, and hushed as if it was discussing something gravely important and didn't want to be overheard. I couldn't understand her, but I wondered what was going on. Had something bad happened to one of my hall mates? Had a parent come up to bring them home?

Last semester one of the students at another dorm had been caught with drugs and alcohol on a substance-free hall. Her parents had come to get her and allegedly she was in rehab now. I'd always thought that was a little extreme, but it wasn't any of my business and I hadn't known her that well anyway. Maybe something similar was going on here. I'd ask someone in the morning, maybe.

At 9:30 I got a call from Jasper asking if I wanted him to cover my shift at the radio station. How he found out I was sick, I have no idea, but I very gratefully told him yes. I was well enough to push buttons for a while, sure, but there was no way I could fake my chipper voice. Still, I wanted to come in and help just to get my two hours of pay for the evening. "Do you mind?" I asked Jasper. "I know how weird you are about having people around while you're working."

"Not at all," said Jasper. "It's your shift."

He wasn't alone, which surprised me. When I got to the station there was a tiny, black-haired girl perched on Jasper's knee. At first I wondered how in the world an asocial head case like Jasper (I know, it takes one to know one) wound up with a girlfriend in the first place, if that's what she was. Then I saw Jasper smile. Suddenly he appeared, not just normal, but warm, and happy. It caught me so completely off guard that I actually stopped in my tracks.

The black-haired girl spotted me and bounced over to the door. "Hi!" she said brightly. "I'm Alice. Jasper was worried about bringing a friend in here, but I told him you wouldn't mind."

"Oh." I said, a little baffled at this incessantly friendly greeting. "Um, yeah. It's no big deal."

Alice grinned back at Jasper triumphantly. "See?" she said.

I introduced myself, but Alice seemed to already know who I was; I guessed Jasper must have told her what I looked like. It was a strange evening, but a good one. Alice helped me pick out songs, fluttering back and forth between the shelves like an oversized fairy, or a black-feathered tropical bird. She chattered non-stop through the whole shift, providing a nice buffer between me, still sick and freshly dumped, and Jasper, who was polite but tight-lipped as usual. Normally it would have encroached on my patience to have a third person in the already cramped studio, but for some reason Alice's presence made me feel relaxed and almost cheerful. I'd heard before that opposites attract, but I hadn't seen such a convincing example of the fact before, and I said so.

"How long have you two been together?" I asked.

"Oh, it feels like forever, doesn't it?" asked Alice, giving Jasper an affectionate grin. "I know what you mean. We balance each other out."

"Maybe that was the real problem with me and Kyle," I said. "We had a lot in common. Maybe it was _too_ much."

"Kyle is Beth's ex-boyfriend," Jasper explained.

"How'd you know that?" I asked.

"You said it on the air last night."

I blushed. "Really? Did I say his name?"

Jasper nodded slowly.

"Shit. . . I didn't realize I was that pissed off at him."

"It's okay," said Alice. "He probably didn't hear it."

"I hope not." Even if he deserved it. Of course I wanted Kyle to know on some level how angry I was, to the extent that I was never going to forgive him, ever, but I hadn't meant to humiliate him over the air. "Nah, he probably didn't hear it," I said, more to myself than to either of them. "He hardly listened to my show when we were going out anyway."

The rest of the night went on without any uncomfortable topics, and it was over quickly. I mentioned once that I needed a new pair of jeans, and Alice immediately volunteered herself to take me shopping. "Just let her," said Jasper. "It'll be easier if you don't fight it."

I enjoyed meeting Alice, and thought Jasper was lucky to have found somebody like her, and told him so. He agreed wholeheartedly. It wasn't until afterwards that I realized they'd never answered my question, about how long they'd been together. Maybe it was just an honest mistake.


	6. Chapter 6

AU: You guys still out there? Anyway, here's another flashback chapter – Maria gives Jasper a little lesson on how to use his powers. Enjoy!

6

Every day was the same. Travel, recruit, kill, not always in that order, and not always the same way. Never stop, never sleep, never let down his guard. Keep to the shadows, sparse as they were in the flatlands of Middle America, and keep away from regular folk except to feed.

Jasper had become a monster. Maria's every whim became his own, and his strange gifts made it easy to predict his enemies' motives and take them down all the more quickly. It was brutal work, killing a vampire, but it could be done. Jasper lost track of the carnage that piled up in his wake after the first week, and the smell of death no longer troubled him.

Maria was building an army. Jasper's job was to feel his way through the new recruits—other newly minted vampires like himself—and let her know which ones were worth keeping. The others, he was ordered to destroy. Many of them were soldiers, his old comrades in arms. Many of them killed each other, regardless of whether or not Maria wanted to keep them. Jasper understood. If he didn't keep close to his maker all the time, he may have given in to the rage and thirst as well.

He turned a few himself. It was so easy, walking or riding up to them in his "Major Whitlock" uniform, and then sinking in his venom-coated teeth. Not everyone survived the change, and it was difficult, once the skin broke, to keep from drinking, but Jasper learned from his mistakes. A thrill of pride and satisfaction welled up in him every time he turned one successfully. But that was Maria, always watching from the shadows, and giving him "rewards" for every job well done.

Jasper didn't know what to think, and mostly he tried not to. Surely he must've felt something, but the chaotic, often violent emotions of those around him left little room for his own. In a way, he was glad that his mind remained blank and unfocused, because if he paused to consider the world he'd fallen into, it would probably drive him mad. Yes, it was better this way. Better not to think.

One day, Maria took him aside from the others. "I'd like you to try something for me, Major," she said. She only called him that when she had a job in mind that would require his experience as an officer. The title was almost snide, coming from her, but it gave Jasper a hint about what was coming next.

"Yes, Maria?" said Jasper.

"We're losing too many men," said Maria. "It's such a shame for you to go to all this trouble, and then have them rip each other to pieces before we even reach the next camp. Don't you think?"

Jasper narrowed his eyes at her. Maria's hard smile cut her face in two, a thin red line hedged by lips that appeared luscious and full at first, but were strained and cracked when one looked past the mask of magic. Her eyes were black, glossy and dead as the eyes of a doll. He couldn't understand what she was driving at. There was something she wanted him to do, something he hadn't done before, and it was connected to his ability to feel the emotions of those around him. Whatever it was, it would not be pleasant. Or maybe Maria was just hoping for unpleasantness.

"Yes," he said finally. "It's a waste. We need to find a way to control them long enough to learn our style of combat."

The crack in Maria's face broadened. "Yes," she said. "Jasper, tell me what you're feeling right now."

"I—Um. . . I feel anxious, excited, a little irritated—"

"No, that's what _I'm_ feeling, Jasper. What do _you_ feel?"

Jasper shook his head. "I don't know."

"Try." Her tone allowed for no more excuses.

Jasper flexed his cold fingers and closed his eyes. He hoped that whatever this was, it would be over soon. It felt like so long since he'd searched his own feelings, or even paid attention to them. He wasn't sure he remembered how. A twinge of unpleasant tightness deep in his gut made itself known; dread, and the sensation of bracing for a blow. He was terrified of disappointing Maria. But how to voice that in a way she'd understand? "I don't want to say the wrong thing," he said.

"How could you say the wrong thing?" Maria asked in her falsely sweet voice. "Go on. Tell me the truth."

"I'm frightened of you," said Jasper. And with the words came a rush of revulsion. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head.

"That's because you know me better than most," said Maria. "Tell me more."

"I don't want to upset you. I want to keep you satisfied more than I want anything in the world. But I resent it."

"Resent what?"

"The power that you have over me. I want to make you happy, but I also wish you didn't exist." Jasper laughed—a strained, nervous sound that had nothing to do with amusement. He'd spoken more just now than he had in months. His voice felt unnatural inside his dry, icy throat.

"I see," said Maria. She didn't seem upset. Only curious, and oddly calculating. "Jasper, I want you to think about something else. Not about me, but about something that makes you feel happy, calm, content—think of that."

"Why?"

"Concentrate. Take all the time you need."

So Jasper closed his eyes once more and tried to focus. He traced his memories back to the fateful night at the fort, before he'd turned back down the road to Galveston. He'd been content then. It wasn't happiness he'd felt, but the lazy self-satisfaction of a job well done. He latched onto that feeling and tried to make it grow in his mind.

"Are you ready, Jasper?" Maria's voice came from a foggy distance, small and unimportant, like a voice in a dream.

"Mm?" Jasper murmured.

"Look at me."

Jasper opened his eyes. When he locked eyes with Maria he got a whiff of greed, and again, the anxiety, and understood what he was meant to do. He stared at her, blocking out the harsh timbre of her mind and pushing out with his own. Maria blinked, then let out a soft sigh. "Oh," she said. "That's quite good, Jasper. I wasn't expecting you to do so well your first try. Now listen to me carefully. . ."


	7. Chapter 7

AU: Hm, still no replies. I'll do this one more time, and then, if no one's bothering with it, we'll call this the end. Deal? Deal.

7

"A civil war hospital?"

"Yeah," I said. "It was converted into a dormitory about a hundred years ago, when they expanded the campus. Most of my classes are on that side."

"Hm." Alice took a pale green dress with tiny straps off the rack. "You know, Jasper's majoring in history. I bet he'd be interested in that dorm."

"Is he?"

"Didn't he tell you?" She slipped the dress, still on the hanger, over my head.

"Hey, hold on a minute!"

"Oh, come on—at least see how it looks first," said Alice. She got behind me and walked me towards a mirror, tugging the fabric snug around my waist.

"This really isn't my style," I protested.

"Don't be silly! With your skin tone, and maybe something a little different with this hair. . ." She gathered up my hair into a speedy, makeshift 'do at the back of my neck.

I'd figured out in just minutes that shopping with Alice wasn't so much a trip to the mall as a battle of wills. She picked out a few things for herself, but mostly she was intent on making me over. I couldn't remember agreeing to such a thing, but Jasper was right—it was easier not to fight it.

I sighed. "Okay," I said, "I'll try it on. But I'm not making any promises."

"Great!" She took the dress off me and draped it over her arm, then went back to the racks for more.

"To answer your question," I said, "Jasper and I don't talk much. I mean. . . He seems nice and all, but he mostly keeps to himself."

"You should tell him about your dorm," said Alice. "I bet he'd get chatty then."

"All right, I will."

She eventually did bully me into buying the green dress, despite my protests that it was silly to buy a fancy outfit without an occasion to wear it to—"The occasion will come, now that you have this," was her argument—but I drew the line there. No makeup, no accessories, no more spending of money on anything besides books and movies for me.

She drove me back to the dorm, asking a few more questions about its historical significance, but most of them I couldn't answer. Did it belong to the North or the South? Was it neutral? Did any fighting happen close by? I felt bad that I didn't know more, but I'd never been into history. All I really knew about the dorm was what I'd already told her. But she made me curious.

Once I was inside, I did a little exploring. There were more than a few strange places in this building, things that I'd seen so many times I barely noticed them anymore: a hallway that ended in a solid wooden door that didn't open, painted green, with a tarnished horseshoe at the top; a disused entryway, very grand, with a set of double doors—which also didn't open—below a terrace-like flight of five or six stairs, with a walled-off balcony directly above it; an abandoned dining room and kitchen with cheap linoleum flooring that oozed black gunk between the tiles. The kitchen looked more modern—it must have gone out of use in the 70s, when the college went coed and the women started taking their meals in the main dining hall in the commons building.

After about an hour, I went back to my room. It was fascinating, sure, but all those empty hallways gave me the creeps. I wanted to be back on the ground floor, with the paper-thin walls and loud music and other obnoxious but oddly comforting signs of life. I turned on my computer and blasted some of my non-indie AFI, just to keep the silence away. For some reason my ears perked up at a lyric—"for of sugar and ice I am made." I'd heard this album at least a hundred times, but something about those words picked at my mind, like a long buried memory, or a puzzle piece that I was sure would fit if I could only find the right puzzle.

I fell asleep on top of the bedcovers, desk light on, music playing in an endless loop through the night. Just before I drifted off, I thought I could hear voices again. Angry chatter floated back and forth through the air, and I couldn't tell where it came from, or if I was dreaming. I didn't understand the words, but the tone was angry, hushed.

Suddenly one of them was right at my ear, flat, sinister and bell-clear: "_BRING HIM HERE_." I sat up and gasped, only to find that my room was empty, and it was morning now. The light at my desk appeared stale and harsh, and my head felt fuzzy. The music was still playing. There was that lyric again—"for of sugar and ice I am made." I got up and shut it off. Then I turned the light off too. The room filled with a warm, comfortable quiet, and the soft glow of morning filtered in around the window blinds.

Down the hallway I heard water running—one of my hallmates was taking a shower. I breathed out and rubbed my hands over my face to wake myself up. Had I really heard that voice? No. Of course not. Probably just a bad dream.


	8. Chapter 8

AU: All right, new reply! Thanks, Sorcha! I guess I'll move forward on this after all.

8

"'_The sewer is the conscience of the city. Everything there converges and confronts everything else. In that livid spot there are shades, but there are no longer any secrets.'_ Now, who can tell me what a 'shade' is in this context?" Mr. Bates brandished his ragged copy of Victor Hugo's _Les Misérables _like an assault rifle, pointing it at the class one by one until someone cracked.

"It's a ghost," said a boy named Nathan.

The assault novel went back on the desk, damage done. "Very good!" said Mr. Bates. "A shade is a ghost. Are we talking about a literal ghost here?" This time he didn't wait for a response. "No—of course not. We're talking about the moral specters that haunt Jean Valjean. You see, just as the sewer is a metaphor for the conscience of Paris, it's also a metaphor for his journey in the novel. Now what I'd like you all to do for me next week. . ."

I jotted down a few notes. Shade=ghost. Sewer=Valjean's conscience. Mr. Bates slapped an assignment on the board and I jotted that down, too. We were supposed to identify the "ghosts" in one of the characters' lives and talk about the metaphorical ways in which they manifested themselves in the next few chapters.

I'd read this book before. Seen the play, too, at least four times. We were doing it now because the theater department was putting on a show this semester, and Mr. Bates wanted us to go see it and write an essay about the accuracy of the adaptation. (Or lack thereof.) Although I was looking forward to shredding the differences in the Eponine character between page and stage, the classes were a bit tedious.

I packed up my things and followed the rest of the class out the door. Mike, a spikey-haired, vest-wearing junior that I affectionately referred to as my gay boyfriend, fell into step beside me. "You're gonna shred Eponine, aren't you?" he asked.

I laughed. "Am I really that predictable?"

"Only to me. What classes have you got left?"

"Um, just French, but it's way the hell across campus so it's gonna eat up twice as much time as it needs to."

"Damn, that sucks. I'm done for the day."

"You're such a punk. I hate you."

Mike laughed at me and looped his arm through mine. "Let's go get Thai food for lunch," he said. "This place downtown has a special on sweet and sour chicken on Thursdays."

"You buying?"

"Hell no, but I'll drive you to your French class afterwards."

"Deal."

It was overcast and gloomy that day, so I was glad to get off-campus for a while. Also I hadn't gotten a chance to tell Mike about my break-up yet. He indulged me with unpleasant hissing noises when I explained what had happened with Kyle, and assured me that I'd done the right thing by dissing him on the air. Then he started to grill me about "that creepy new kid," meaning Jasper.

"He's all right," I said. "I know how he seems, but I think he's nice."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Nice?" he repeated. "He's a hottie, sure, but I dunno. I just get a weird vibe from him."

I shrugged and didn't retaliate.

Mike dropped me at the curb by the language arts building and rolled down the window when I got out. "Hang in there, honey," he said. "I'm here if you need a movie buddy, okay?"

"I know. Thanks."

Mike drove off and I trudged up the small incline to the back entrance; the French room was on the basement level, and the stairs were easier to get to from outside. But when I got to the mouth of the stairwell, I stopped: Jasper. He was waiting for me.

No—that was silly. He'd probably just gotten out of class himself. Still, that didn't explain the way he was standing, stiff right in front of the staircase, the pockets of his jacket puffing up and flattening as he clenched and unclenched his hands inside them. There was something funny about his eyes, too, something almost feral.

I cleared my throat. "Hi," I said.

"Hello," said Jasper. "You're here for the French lab?"

I nodded. "You too?"

"No. I placed out of the language requirement. The admin here asked me to tutor for Spanish."

"Oh, good for you. A little extra cash, huh?"

He smiled. "Right."

I cleared my throat again, and was about to try to squeeze past him when he spoke up.

"Alice told me about your dormitory," he said.

"Oh yeah?"

"I'd like to see it."

I crossed my arms, suddenly realizing how chilly it was out here. And where the hell were the other students? "Um," I said, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

A warm, tingly feeling spread over my face and torso, and my body relaxed. "I just. . ."

Jasper waited.

"Maybe some other time," I said. "Tonight's not good for me."

Jasper nodded. "Some other night, then."

And he slipped away. I ran downstairs as fast I could the second he was out of sight.


	9. Chapter 9

AU: Thank you again, dear! To answer your question: No my Mike is not Mike Newton. I just picked that name randomly, it's not supposed to be an indication of anything. All righty, this is the last flashback chapter. Sorry it's so short. Enjoy!

9

Maria, hungry as usual for more dominance and control over her expanding brood, had grown tired of her compatriots, Nettie and Lucy. "We need to narrow our focus," she said. So, with Jasper's help, she killed them. Jasper had become the resident expert on disposing of fellow vampires, no matter how old or strong they were, and the echo of Maria's sadistic glee spurred him on. It was never what one could call easy. The only way to destroy a vampire was to tear the body apart several times over and burn the pieces. Yes, vampires could burn. It just took a very long time.

It was a disaster.

Some of the followers in their army had preferred Nettie on account of her insatiable bloodlust; it was easy for the new ones to relate to her. Others just thought Maria was too harsh a leader, and sometimes Jasper agreed with them. So when Maria told them that she would be their one and only leader from now on, fully half of the army had responded with rampant violence. Maria hadn't counted on a revolt.

Jasper dove into the group and did what he could to stop the slaughter. He flung them off each other and projected patience and understanding with all his concentration, but he was so tired. The killing of the elder two had exhausted him.

Someone throttled Jasper from behind. He locked his hands around the wrists of whoever had hold of him, but he couldn't break the grip. Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder and he cried out, more from frustration than from pain. Maria should have known this would happen. She was horribly out of touch with the wants and needs of her unholy brood; Jasper sensed her selfishness every minute. Suddenly he was angry with her for making such a careless error in judgment, and at himself for failing to do anything to stop her. The uncontrollable fury of the battle rushed into him, filling his senses and blackening his mind. He let out a monstrous roar, spun around to face his attacker, and struck out, hard, with all the strength he possessed.

The attacker shot nearly a mile across the desert, leaving a trail of dust and sand in his wake. Jasper flew after him. He hauled up the traitor by the arm and bit deep into the shoulder, severing the limb at the joint. Then he went for the other. Then he put out the young vampire's eyes. He barely noticed the screaming. But it wasn't time for death yet. Jasper clutched the front of his prey's shirt and dragged him back to the main battle, this time projecting a single thought over and over: _FEAR ME_.

The fighting stilled and then stopped at Jasper's approach. His message was taking. He drank in their horror and heightened it, then fed it back to them again. Maria stood in the center of the group, small and shivering. Jasper dumped the traitor at her feet. "Let's give them something to think about," he said.

Maria stared at Jasper, wide-eyed and awestruck. Then she nodded. She stepped in front of him and raised her voice to the crowd. "Pay close attention, all of you!" she said. "You are _my_ children now. Attempt to escape, or to thwart our efforts in any way, and this is the fate that will befall you." She glanced back at the mutilated vampire on the ground, and gave Jasper a short nod.

Jasper knelt down, and with hands and teeth opened the vampire's chest, and pulled out the cold, still heart beneath the ribs. He stood and held the heart high above his head for the crowd to see, like an unrefined hunk of garnet in the sunlight. Then he handed it to Maria. She took the organ in both hands and bit into it; it shattered in a thousand pieces of shimmering dust, like red sand.

No one crossed her again after that. Some tried to leave, but they were few. But something else changed that day. When Maria looked at Jasper, it was no longer with the patronizing smile he'd grown almost fond of. Her gaze was calculating and distant. She was afraid of him now.


	10. Chapter 10

AU: Hey there, thanks for coming back! So, this one brings us back to the present again, back to Beth's creepy dormitory, and the real hauntings begin. Extra-long, to make up for skimping in the previous chapter. (I should probably point out that I was on a Silent Hill binge when I wrote this one, actually....)

10

I set up my playlist to run no less than fifteen minutes before my shift was done, so I could leave before Jasper arrived. Usually I waited for the next person to show up in case they were late, but I had no desire to run into Jasper again. I was getting out of there as fast as humanly possible.

It was getting colder. The snow had started early this afternoon, and hadn't quit until nightfall. That didn't seem like a long time, but it had been heavy, and it had stuck. I walked past one smooth drift after another as I headed for my dormitory. The snow like this, quiet and still, was so beautiful. It wasn't really white, of course, unless you thought of "white" as the absence of color. The billions of tiny, almost microscopic flakes were like a pile of tiny crystals or bits of glass, each the size of a single grain of sand. And as I passed them, they glittered. Not all at once, but blending, reflecting the rose-colored lights that lined the walkway.

When I finally collapsed on my bed, I couldn't sleep. I was plenty tired, but I couldn't relax, couldn't get comfortable, couldn't stop my mind from flipping through my distressed thoughts like an impatient child with a remote control. The air in the room felt heavy and close, as if it was pressing down on me.

Why had Jasper been waiting at the language building for me? How had he known I always used the back door? Was he really tutoring Spanish? (Well, okay, that part I kind of did believe—if he was really from Texas, and I thought he was, then he probably had a working knowledge of South of the Border dialect.)

It was now 3am by the clock on my desk. The most haunted hour of the night, according to Ray Bradbury. I had to get out of here—I was taking a walk. I got up, put my winter coat on over my pajamas and headed outside. This wasn't the first time I'd gotten insomnia; I was going to the lake across from the Common building. There was a footbridge and a tiny gazebo on the other side, and I'd gone there to sit and think before. It wasn't a long walk, but it was chilly.

I kept my chin tucked down into my coat, away from the cold. I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me with my head down like that, but I'd been this way so many times it didn't make much difference.

The thing that was bugging me the most was Jasper. Just this afternoon (yesterday afternoon?) I'd defended him in front of Mike, when Mike had called him creepy. And then he had shown up outside of my French class with his creepiness turned up farther than I'd ever seen it. He'd seemed uncomfortable, but he always seemed uncomfortable. The only time he acted like a normal human was when Alice was around.

Actually, Alice was the only living being, besides myself, that I'd ever seen him around, period. For a split second I wondered if he didn't exist, if he was just a figment of my imagination coming to take over the radio station when I wasn't there. But that idea didn't last long—Mike had talked to me about him, and our boss had put his name on the payroll.

"Get a grip, Beth," I muttered to myself.

Then I heard something. Music, something old-fashioned—some kind of early jazz, maybe—was playing ahead of me. I stretched my neck up; in the gazebo, just a few yards from where I stood, Alice and Jasper were dancing. There was a portable CD player on one of the benches along the path, and the two lovers swirled in and out of the soft electric light around them.

Something struck me about the way the light reflected off their skin, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Something familiar. There were both pale, but not in that pinched, sleep-deprived, unhealthy way. They glowed and shimmered, like a pair of porcelain figurines in a music box.

The music swelled to its coda, then it was quiet again. Jasper took both of Alice's hands in his, pulled her close, and pressed his face to her ear. She made a face and laughed. The sound left an ethereal echo in the night air, clear and delicate as a glass bell. Jasper smiled and kissed her soundly. Yep—he was definitely less spooky when he was with her. I wondered what he'd said to her.

Suddenly they both went still. Jasper appeared at the bench with the CD player—I say "appeared" because that's what it looked like to me; he moved so fast, he could have teleported—and turned it off before the next song could start. They were both staring at me, Alice still under the gazebo, Jasper at the bench with his hand on the radio.

I froze. In that moment I was glad that my face got flushed in cold weather, because they wouldn't be able to tell I was blushing.

"Beth?" said Alice. "Why are you out so late?"

It didn't occur to me to throw the question back at her; somehow the night, and the cold, suited them. "I. . ." I fumbled.

Jasper moved closer to me. His eyes locked on me, and I couldn't move. But then a wave of calm washed over me, warm and soothing. I let out the breath I'd been holding without realizing it, and my shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry if I scared you earlier," said Jasper. "Are you all right?"

"I wasn't scared," I lied. "What are you guys doing out here?"

Alice came up and put her arm around Jasper's waist, smiling up at him. "Tonight's a special night for us," she said. "We always do something."

"Oh." I cleared my throat. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I couldn't sleep."

"We'll walk you back," said Jasper.

Alice tugged his arm and gave him a pleading look.

"I know," Jasper said. "It's okay—I just want to _see_ it."

"Wait a second—this isn't some kind of trick to see my dorm, is it?" I asked.

Jasper looked at me. "No," he said slowly. "Would you rather go back by yourself?"

I thought about the heavy atmosphere, and the voices I'd heard, and shuddered. "Not really. . ."

"We'll walk with you," said Alice. "But we're not going inside." She shot Jasper a look, her pretty mouth tightened down in a line.

What the hell?

I shrugged. "Fine," I said. Then I walked on without waiting for them. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I'd gotten to sleep after all and given myself a trippy nightmare on account of the way Jasper had acted yesterday.

None of us spoke until I reached the front door; yeah, it was definitely a dream. I turned back to thank them for walking with me, but Jasper had stopped several feet back from the entrance. Jasper's face was a difficult one to read at the best of times, but I caught this one immediately: horror. He was petrified of my dorm.

Alice noticed it too. "Oh, Jasper," she moaned. "I tried to warn you—"

"I've been here before."

That's when I figured it out: the snow. Their skin, under the amber-colored lights above the entrance foyer, glowed and glimmered like packed, hardened snow.

_For of sugar and ice I am made._

I took a step backward into the doorway. At the same moment, Jasper turned around, muttered, "I have to. . ." to no one in particular, and headed off the way we'd come.

Alice glanced back at me. "Sorry, I better catch up with him," she said. "Sleep tight!" Then she danced down the steps and blew me a kiss over her shoulder.

Well. I'd had waking dreams before. You know, dreams that felt so real you had to go to "sleep" in order to wake up in real life? I didn't really believe this was a dream, but I had to go to bed either way.

I also had to go by those ornate double-doors with the walled-off balcony overhead in order to get to my room. As I passed, I heard a sharp-edged, creaking sound. I stopped. I looked behind me, and in front of me—nothing in the hallway. I took another step, and heard another creak. No—it was more like a squeak. Rusty wheels turning.

The balcony. I looked over: there was a wheeled cot-like bed on the balcony above the doors. A hospital gurney. The inside of my chest was suddenly hot and fluttery, and I felt my breath quickening. I went forward again, slowly. The gurney rolled along with me, staying directly across from me on the balcony.

I crossed the rest of the space to the narrow hallway on the other side. There was a metallic crash behind and above me as the gurney hit the wall. I turned back for a quick peek. I don't know why—just assuring myself that it was still there, I guess.

It was there. The bed sheets were dingy off-white and covered in dark stains. But the sheets didn't lie completely flat on the flimsy mattress. _Is there someone on that thing?_ I wondered. No sooner than the thought formed in my head than the sheets began to rise.

I ducked back into the hallway and pressed myself against the wall. I couldn't make myself go forward. The air was so thick and heavy I could barely move. I screwed my eyes shut and covered my mouth with both hands; my breathing was much too loud.

Then the voices started. Rushed, frantic whispers that came from everywhere all at once. I didn't catch all the words, but I heard, "_Closer! Closer!_" several times. And then, that hard, clear voice from my nightmare: "_NOT CLOSE ENOUGH_."

I shrieked, "Stop it!"

The noise, the thickness in the air, and the horrible sense that I was not alone vanished so suddenly it almost made me scream again. The instant, empty quiet was frightening in a different way; now all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears.

I stopped at my room just long enough to get a pillow and my toothbrush, then I walked back outside dialing Mike's number as I went.

He picked up with a groggy, "H'lo?"

"Hi, it's Beth. My dorm's haunted. Can I come over?"

"Huh?"

"Look, I'll explain later. Just . . . can I come over?"

"Uh. . . Okay. I'll unlock the door."

"Thanks." Then another thought came to me. "Hey, what day is this?"

"Jesus—I don't know."

"Is it a holiday or anything?"

"Um. . . Oh yeah, it's one of those bullshit federal holidays, 'cause I couldn't get into the bank this morning. Veteran's Day."


	11. Chapter 11

AU: Hello again! I've been slacking off on this fic lately, haven't I? Hope you guys are still out there somewhere. Okay, moving on! This chapter will be the last of the flashbacks, and catch you up to the rest of what's relevant to the current plot. Short, but nasty. Enjoy!

11

The building sat on a low hill, a short walk's distance from a lake. It was a hospital, and like many of the well-meaning organizations in this time of war, had fallen into neglect and disrepair. Both sides had forgotten it, and it was lucky to still be standing.

"North or South?" Jasper asked.

"Does it matter?" said Maria. "No one will notice anything amiss here. We just have to be sure to take all of them."

Jasper nodded, although his heart gave a feeble lurch of resistance. "All right."

"All the same, you better wear your uniform. Just to make things go smoothly."

Jasper turned to the coven. "Everyone will wait here until my signal," he said. "You've learned much, and you deserve to be rewarded for your patience. I'm going inside to speak to the nurse in charge. She will open the doors for us, and then and _only_ then will you follow me."

"Why are we waitin' for the doors to open?" asked one of the vampires. "Can't we break 'em down?"

"We can, but we want to use this place as shelter for a few days. We all need rest."

"Do as he says," said Maria. "There is plenty for everyone. No need to rush."

Jasper shrugged into his confederate jacket—now so threadbare and stained it barely held together—and slung his bayonet over his shoulder. "This won't take long," he said.

And then he was off. There was a fresh bloodstain on the left side of his jacket, right over his ribs. Jasper rubbed at the stain, getting the blood on his hands, then adopted a limp and hunched over as he approached the door. He held a hand tight against his ribs when he crossed the threshold.

The nurse at the desk gasped and ran over to him. "Oh my!" she said. "Are you badly hurt, sir?"

"Don't worry about me, ma'am," said Jasper, making his voice gruff and strained. "I have a small regiment of soldiers with me. Not many of us survived the battle at Galveston, and we're just looking for a place to stay for the night."

The nurse nodded. "Of course. We don't have many provisions left, but we can find beds for you at least. Bring them inside."

"Thank you, ma'am."

The nurse followed Jasper to the doors and helped him open them wide. The vampires were inside in seconds. It wasn't until the screams started that the nurse thought to go back inside. Jasper didn't let her see—he could spare her that horror at least. He grabbed her by the ties of her white apron and snapped her neck back before breaking the skin. Then he drained her dry.

The rest of the hospital was easy. Most of its residents were injured or otherwise incapacitated, and couldn't even try to run. No one got out. No one survived. One man, a doctor, tried to escape by jumping out a narrow window in the kitchen, but Jasper launched his bayonet like a javelin and struck him in the back. Another bunch of stragglers tried to hide by locking themselves behind a green door with a horseshoe pinned over it. Maria decided to let them stay; they'd need provisions for later, after all.

Once the slaughter was complete, Jasper divided the troops into groups of five to go through the entire building and get rid of the bodies. He and Maria scouted the hospital for valuables that they could barter or trade later. It wasn't until they had cleared the entire building, save for their provisions, that Maria spoke.

"I want you to be honest with me, Jasper," she said.

Jasper's heart froze. Her words were laced with a threat, something that she'd been wanting for a long time but had waited until now to pursue it.

"Yes, Maria?" he asked.

"Do you love me?"

He stared at her. There was no affection, no tenderness in her face. Jasper had never been in love before, but he knew that whatever he felt for Maria, it was different. Still, there was no way for her to know that. "Yes," he answered, feeding sincerity into his voice. "You're all I have."

"Good," Maria said curtly. "Because I wouldn't like to think you'd find some reason to run away. You belong here, with me."

And there, standing in the bloodied hallway, with the whimpering voices of survivors echoing too softly for human ears to hear, as their dark comrades finished their brutal work, Jasper stopped caring. Maria was strong, and powerfully evil, but not as strong as he was. He could leave her at any moment, and she knew it. The bond between creator and fledgling that had kept him at her side so far had dissolved. He could desert her whenever he wished.

He must have known it for some time now. And still he'd agreed to destroy this place, and many others, for no better reason than that she'd asked him to. What was he waiting for? How many more deaths would pile up around him while he bided his time?

Thoughts of anger and revenge festered in the minds of the captives behind the green door. Jasper had a feeling he'd pay for this someday.


End file.
